


Just friends.

by Rosenquarz



Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF
Genre: Crack, Ficlet, Homosexuality, M/M, Male Slash, PWP, Slash, that's about it, two guys one motel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-02-03 00:58:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1725326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosenquarz/pseuds/Rosenquarz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is me writing in English for the very first time. Be warned. It's short. It's a PWP. It's RPS with Brad and George going at it. Oh, boy what was I thinking... You may rest assured that I'm utterly ashamed of myself. Hopefully the gentlemen in question are never ever gonna see this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just friends.

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbetaed and I have no idea what I'm doing. But I got a pretty cover from my bf anyway. So yay! Here we go.

They're just friends. Everybody knows that. Cause Brad is going to be married. Happily so. With a beautiful woman if there ever was one to walk the earth. And George is going to be married - soon too and a ladies' man par excellence. Lucky bastard, he is for sure. And they're just friends alright. But here's a lil bit of inside you're hardly ever going to get on America's Weekly: they're fucking.

You heard me. They're fucking. Not all lovey-dovey. Candles and roses and violins playing in the distance. No, that's not not their style. Actually, they kinda hate it. False names and seedy motels and how they're drawn to each other. It's like a bad habit, an addiction that they can't get rid of, can't be completely cured of. It's a bit like a curse really. They're cursed. To want each other. Love each others skin and smell and sounds. So they meet up. Again and again, under false names in seedy motels.

\---

There's a single knock.

Brad opens the door. Just wearing a pair of blue jeans.

George is standing there in a dark grey Armani suit and a lilt on his lips.

„Hey there, cowboy.“ he whistles.

Brad blows out a huff. „You're late.“

George shrugs. „Fashionably so.“ Steps into the room. Brushing Brad's left shoulder. „You been waiting for me?“

„What do you think?“ Brad grabs him by the lapels of his jacket. „Need to fuck you.“

George meets him with a leveled gaze. „Do you now?“ he asks smirking.

Brad tilts his head to the side. „You saying you don't want it?“

„No.“ Gorge nips his lower lip with a bit of teeth. „I want it bad, darling.” he whispers in a false falsetto voice. “Take me, I'm yours.“

Brad smiles lazily at their cheap porn one-liners and goes for the buttons on George's shirt. „That's alright then. I'm gonna give it to you good.“

„I know.” George flutters his lashes against Brads cheekbone. “You always do.“

„Ain't that right?“ Brad asks half mockingly, half serious. A flicker of something in his eyes, when he lowers George to the bed.

George won't miss a beat. „Fill me up, loverboy.“ he chuckles huskily while shredding his suit.

„My pleasure...“ Brad's using his teeth to pull the rest of offending clothes off that gorgeous body. „Been too long.“ he breathes into Georges bare skin.

It's a thrill like nothing else, to have that goddamn beautiful thing beneath him. To sink into him. It's almost like coming home. It's definitely intoxicating a feeling and Brad has to pull away quickly afterwards or else he'll get hopelessly, endlessly lost in the sensation - and no, sir'ee! That's not an option. For neither of them.

Afterwards George lights one of his fancy cigarettes and inhales deeply like it's the best thing since sliced bread. “Want a drag?” he drawls with closed eyes.

“Nah. I'm good.” And Brad is. All sweaty and sticky in all the wrong places and dead tired on top of that. He's right as rain. At least for now. Later there will be guilt. Lots and lots of it. But not yet, so he'll simply enjoy the feeling while it lasts... Which turns out to be till George starts humming a little tune that sounds suspiciously like 'Will you still love me tomorrow” from The Shirelles and Brad hates him a little, just for that.


End file.
